The Clockmaker's Niece: Book One
by ConstantsandVariables
Summary: The strange little story of an odd girl with a silly name who lived with her aunt and uncle in a house on a hill that was filled with clocks.
1. Tick Tock I Think Not

**Okay, here's my latest (second) attempt at a fanfiction. I feel that I should warn you that the first chapter begins fairly bleakly, despite this, I hope you enjoy it. Please R&R!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

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><p>In the the small English village of Quigley's Grove, there is a house on the hill. It's an old, gothic-looking building. It was undoubtedly a fine place once but thanks to poor funds or simply a lack of care, it has begun to slowly give into the ravages of time. The children of the village love the place and love to tell ghost stories where some poor, Victorian girl was murdered in a jealous rage and has been doomed to wander the house's many hallways ever since, wailing and covered in blood. Utter poppycock, of course. Anyone in the know would be able to tell you that ghosts have far better things to do with their time and the ghosts themselves would undoubtedly launch into a great speech about fighting against stereotypes and such. But that's another story for another time.<p>

The house in question, is owned by an elderly German gentleman called Christoph Eichenwald. He's something of a recluse, preferring his own company and that of books to the village residents. Now, Christoph's life would be fascinating to say the least. He was something of an explorer in his youth and he somehow managed to survive two of the darkest periods of wizarding history to ever grace the history books. But no one in the village would ever know this. Quigley's Grove would only ever see him as the grouchy, eccentric clock maker who lived on the hill, which brings us swiftly to the beginning of our story.

The clocks.

The house is filled with them. Pendulum clocks, grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks - if you can name it, then it will no doubt be hidden away in the house, and they've all been made by Christoph. Yes, in between exploring and surviving devastating wars, he was also an expert clockmaker. You see what I mean about fascinating? But anyway, the clocks had always been a great source of pride for Christoph, their cogs were always gleaming and well-oiled, the faces were polished and without a single scratch, it was a truly brilliant sight to behold; the large, impressive hallway, silent but for the ticking of the beautifully-crafted clocks that seemed to cover near every surface.

But that was some years ago and the tick tock of the clocks has long since stopped. And Christoph never spares the poor things a passing glance. So they sit on the tables and hang on the walls, dusty and cracked and broken. There's a reason behind this, you know. His hands remained as steady as ever and his memory didn't fail him and force him to give up on the timepieces, he grew - suddenly, forcefully and wholly - to hate the damned things. For a very long while, before that silly, marvellous child who had her mother's smile came to stay, they were he and Matilda's only company. The tick-tock, tick-tock would comfort them when the silence of the far too large and empty house became to much to bear and when they broke down, they gave him something to do. A comfort in a way.

But now, as he neared the end of his life, alone and disillusioned, he could only feel bitterness towards them. They had mocked him, as much as an inanimate object could, with their quiet, steady sound, reminding him of the too brief years when he could hear music and off-key singing coming from the first floor. He remembered thumping the ceiling with a broomstick shouting at her to "Turn that infernal racket down!" while Matilda looked over her glasses and chuckled at her husband's antics. The calming sound of the clocks ticking had hit him hardest when he remembered it and eventually he could bear it no more. Call it madness if you will, but he painstakingly made sure that each and every clock would never tick again. He still had them up though - a small, rather unpleasant part of him enjoying watching as the damned things fell further and further into disrepair. So perhaps the village was right, perhaps he was truly mad. But he could no longer bring himself to care.

He often thought that perhaps this was a cruel side effect from living too long - when you watched the people you love die and the world keep on changing until you can no longer recognise it. Yes, he thought, apathy and madness simply couldn't been avoided once you had realised the terrible truth of it all. He thought of it nearly every day because there was nothing else to think of. No one to worry about, or scold. It was just him. And sometimes the thought of it drew tears to his eyes.

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><p>1987<p>

Quentin was dead. The ne'er-do-well husband of his eldest niece was dead. Christoph wasn't entirely sure how Matilda wanted him to react to the news. He felt little to no remorse, he was sure Matilda didn't either, but she would be too kind to say so. Christoph on the other hand...

"What would you like me to do?" He asked irritably, fiddling around with the inner-workings of a pocket watch.

"A little bit of kindness wouldn't go amiss." Matilda said tartly as she set the tea tray on his working desk, taking care not to crush any of the delicate bits and bobs that lay scattered on it.

Christoph snorted as he lifted the cup and saucer off the tray, "The same kindness he showed my niece? The man was a brute, you know this."

"I never said he was anything but," Matilda said sternly, "Besides, it's not him I think of. It's the child."

Seven years ago, Aggie, as she was fondly referred to by her family, had given birth to a little girl. But less than a year after she was born, the child's mother had been murdered. There was a war on, after all. So the child had been brought up by her father, who point blank refused to give her up. No one in the Eichenwald family had heard of them for several years, not a Christmas card or letter asking for money, until now.

Quentin Oswald had been found dead. The drunken fool had managed to get himself run over by one of those muggle automobiles, leaving the child an orphan.

Christoph took a sip of tea before setting the cup down. He stared at his wife warily, "Is that so?"

"She's alone, Christoph. She needs somewhere to live." Matilda put her hands on her waist and stared down at her husband.

"No, absolutely not." Christoph sighed, pushed his chair back and stood up. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.

"There is no one else to take her in. If we do not, then she'll be put in a home, a muggle one."

Christoph raised an eyebrow, "I would never have thought of you as prejudiced, my dear."

Oh, the glare she sent him! It would have sent You-Know-Who himself running for the hills.

"Don't be ridiculous, Christoph! But the muggles won't know what she is, how to handle her. She'll grow up an outcast, separated from the other children by something they don't understand."

Christoph sighed, "My dear, we are in our Winter years. It would be unfair on the child."

Matilda scoffed, "I don't know about you, but there's still plenty of life left in this old mare yet!" Her stare turned more stern and Christoph suddenly felt the need to busy himself elsewhere. Funny how she could do that, make a grown man feel like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was a great talent, Christoph decided.

"I don't debate that, my dear." He scratched the side of his nose and sighed, aware that he was fast losing the argument, "Perhaps, _perhaps_, we should meet the child first."

Matilda beamed at him, her face lit up entirely - she knew that he knew that she had won but was absolutely unwilling to say it, "Of course, meine liebe."

OoOoOoOoO

She was a tiny, little thing. Far too small for seven. Brown pigtails, freckles and a pair of big, blue eyes that never lifted their gaze from the ground. She didn't speak at first, only nod or shook her head at the appropriate intervals.

But Matilda had always been marvellous with children and the small, scrawny one that had sat opposite them was no different.

"Ah, that's much better." Matilda had announced at seeing the toothy little grin, "Such a shame to have such a nice smile go to waste."

The smile grew a bit bigger and the cheeks turned a little pink in embarrassment.

"Now that we're all friends," Christoph spoke up and lent forward on his walking stick, "Perhaps we could have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

She stuck her tiny hand out for him to shake, "It's Peyton, sir. Peyton Oswald."

OoOoOoOoO

When they brought her to the house for the first time, she had looked at the clocks with an awed expression on her face.

"Why do you need so many?" She had asked Christoph with wide eyes.

"So we'll always know the time." He said curtly.

"But one clock would tell you the time, right?"

He looked down at her thoughtfully and leaned on his walking stick, "Yes, yes it would. But what if it breaks, hm?" He waved his arm at the clocks that surrounded them, "This way, you can never lose track of time."

Peyton had the look of a child who had just been told the meaning of life; sure that she had just been told something important, unsure exactly what it was.

"Oh." She looked at the grandfather clock that stood by the stairs, "Where did you get them?"

"I made them."

Peyton's eyes had widened to the size of saucers by this point, "Wow. Can you teach me how?"

Christoph dithered, he didn't want to disappoint the child but he didn't much fancy trying to explain the intricate, delicate procedure that was required to bring the clock to life.

Luckily, Matilda bustled out from the kitchen at that moment, her apron on and her grey hair tied back in a flyaway bun, "Come along, children," She called, getting a dirty look from Christoph, "I've made cake."

Christoph, although he tried to retain his dignity, was in the kitchen nearly as quickly as Peyton.

OoOoOoOoO

The first time Peyton gave any sign of being even slightly magical to Christoph or Matilda (in front of them, at least) was five months and an exact week after she had first came to live with them. She was out in the house's grounds, running about and pretending that she was an intergalactic explorer if her mutterings were anything to go by. She had came across a "dangerous alien" (a rather confused looking frog) and was talking to her team-mates about it.

"It's growing, it's going to destroy us!" She exclaimed. Matilda, who had came out to tell Peyton it was dinner time, smiled indulgently before she realised that frog was indeed growing. Larger and larger until it was the size of a small dog. Peyton had grown silent and watched the frog with wide, frightened eyes.

"Reducio." Matilda, ever a sensible woman had plucked her wand out of her pocket and cast a quick shrinking charm. She looked back at Peyton who was gazing guiltily at the frog, "Sorry." She muttered, both to the frog and Matilda.

"I think that we need to have a talk." Matilda said seriously. Peyton nodded and followed her great-aunt into the house.

The talk lasted for ten minutes and consisted largely about how although a great gift, magic was also dangerous and historically, not something muggles reacted well to. So, for that reason, Peyton would have to keep a tighter leash on it and not use it in public.

"I didn't mean to." Peyton said quickly, "It just sort of slipped out. I'm usually really, really good with it but I wasn't paying attention and I was imagining the frog turning into a giant frog and then it...did. Sorry." She hung her head.

Christoph nodded and smiled almost reminiscently, "I remember when I was a young boy. I was playing with my brother and he broke my yo-yo. The next thing he knows, he is hanging onto a tree branch." Christoph chuckled and shook his head, "He never did forgive me for that."

"Christoph!"

He started and tried to look serious, "Of course, that wasn't very nice of me and I've regretted it everyday since."

Matilda nodded but as soon as her back was turned Christoph looked at Peyton and mouthed, "It was hilarious."

Peyton couldn't help the giggle that burst out of her mouth. For such an old - or worldly, as Christoph preferred - man, her uncle could be pretty childish.

OoOoOoOoO

When she was nine, Peyton met her first bully and her best friend all on the same day.

It was Summer and the sun beat down on everyone, making the grown-ups grumpier and lazier, the children more excitable. She had strolled over to the park, hoping to find some of the children that played with her last week. One of the downsides of secretly being magic and living on the scary house on the hill with two "eccentrics" was that people tended to think of you as weird, which made it difficult to make new friends. So, if someone so much as offered her a game of hopscotch, then by darn, she would take it.

The park in question was absolutely empty; the swings swung slightly in the wind and the climbing frames and slide remained untouched. Peyton sighed and slouched over to a sling and plopped herself down on it. She was a pitiful sight, all alone with her shoulders slouched, even her pigtails seemed to be drooping, although that may have been the heat. She swung back and forth slightly, scuffing the toes of her shoes on the dusty ground.

"Hey!"

Peyton looked up at the source of the voice and found herself staring at another girl. She was terrifying - tall and menacing and scowly, she looked like she could've punched Peyton's lights out with one swing. But the girl's attention wasn't directed at her, thankfully, instead she was looking at a boy. He was around Peyton's age with hair that looked like it hadn't been combed for weeks. Whoever he was, he was steadily backing away from the tall girl as she hulked ever nearer to him.

"Weirdo." The girl snarled down at the nervous boy and then, quick as lightening, pushed him down roughly. Peyton's eyes widened and she jumped off the swing and ran to the gate. That just wasn't fair. Peyton hovered between action and running away until the girl raised her hand to hit the boy and then, before she even realised what she doing or what she was going to do, she was moving.

She ran through the gate and over to the two children, at which point she shoved the butch girl away from the boy. Only to immediately regret it.

The bully seemed to swell up like a frog, Peyton just about managed not to run away, she still had to rescue the boy after all.

"Leave him alone." Peyton's voice sounded ridiculously squeaky next to the booming tones of the bully.

The girl smirked down at her, unimpressed, "Or what, you little whelp?"

"Or...or I'm gonna tell!"

The weak threat fell on deaf ears as the bully stepped towards her and with the same deadly, unusually precise aim for a child, she had used on the boy, she brought her fist down on Peyton's arm.

Peyton stood there for a few seconds, struck dumb, before she started to wail and good grief, was it a wail. It was the sort of thing that caused birds to fly away from their nests in trees, that caused ear drums to burst and bullies to panic about being caught. The girl looked around her for any adults before she ran away from the scene, leaving Peyton and her damsel in distress alone.

After the bully was out of sight, Peyton stopped wailing abruptly and spun around to face the boy who had been on the ground, dumbstruck the entire time. He gaped at the odd looking girl who had just stuck her hand out for him to take. He didn't. Instead, humiliated and upset, he scrambled up to his feet, dusting off his knees as he did so.

"What did you do that for?" He asked with a bite in his voice.

Peyton's friendly expression faltered and she let her hand fall back to her side, "Well, you looked like you might need help. So-"

"I didn't," He snapped, his face flushing, "I would've beaten her up if you hadn't ruined everything."

Peyton's eyes flashed and her face twisted into a scowl, "Oh, don't be stupid. If I hadn't helped you, then _she_ would've beaten _you_ up."

"I don't need help from a-a girl." He spat the word out like it was some kind of filthy swear.

Peyton almost looked hurt before her eyes took on a steely quality and she sneered at him "Fine then. If you're going to be rude, then I'm going to leave. And next time, I think you need help, I'll leave you to it, I promise." With that, she turned on her heel and stomped away from the dork.

He watched her for a few seconds before an uncomfortable, guilty feeling made him run after her, "Hey, wait!" Thankfully she stopped and waited for him but she was still scowling at him like he was some kind of disgusting amphibian, "What?" Her voice was like battery acid.

The poor boy stared at her awkwardly for a few seconds before he looked down at the ground, "I'm sorry." He muttered, "I didn't mean to be rude, even if you stopped me from beating her up..." He trailed off at the look on her face, "Look, I'm just sorry, alright?"

Peyton considered him for a moment before she nodded slowly and extended her hand again, "Okay. I'm Peyton, in case you were wondering."

The boy grinned, partially in relief and took her hand, "I'm Archie. Archie Melbourne."

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><p><strong>And there you have it, Chapter One. I hope you enjoyed it, just a bit of background story, things will begin to pick up in the next chapter. I know I've already mentioned it, but please R&amp;R, it would mean the world to me.<strong>


	2. The Letter's Arrival

**And here's Chapter Two. Hope you enjoy it and thanks to everyone who was kind enough to leave a review, you guys really make my day, y'know? This chapter's going to be jumping from place-to-place and time-to-time for a little while at the beginning because I want to give some insight into Peyton and Archie's friendship. Please R&R.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Peyton looked up at the sky with a grin on her face. Today really couldn't get much better. Ever since she and Archie shook hands, her life had taken a rather pleasant turn for the better. She had a friend, an actual friend who played with her and joked around. She turned her head to look at him. His brown hair stuck up at odd angles and his head was bopping along to whatever music he was playing on his Walkman. As if he sensed she was watching him, he opened his eyes and grinned at her.

"What?"

Peyton shrugged in response and looked back up at the sky for a few more seconds before she shut her eyes. The sun was shining on her face, the music coming from Archie's Walkman, however faint, had a nice beat to it and she had the whole weekend ahead of her. Life couldn't get any better than this.

"Peyton."

One eye opened lazily, "Yeah?"

Archie was holding his headphones in his hand and motioning for her to take them, "D'you want to listen?"

Her other eye opened and she looked at the headphones like they were in danger of exploding. She might have been more familiar with the muggle world than her elderly aunt and uncle, and Archie was always using something of electronic origins but that didn't make her entirely comfortable around certain things.

"No, it's all right."

Archie waved them in front of her, "Are you sure? I think you'd like the song."

Peyton nodded and edged away from the accursed music-playing device like it was a deadly, growling creature.

Archie watched her disbelievingly. Soon after meeting her, he had found that Peyton was, well, a bit of a weirdo - in a good way, but still. You mentioned anything pop culture related and she just stared at you like you dribbled down your shirt. She was scared of tech, she didn't even know who the Prime Minister was! It was like she was from a different planet or something.

"Really, it's okay. I'm fine."

Archie shrugged, still watching his friend closely, "If you're sure."

Peyton nodded vigorously, "Absolutely. Entirely positive."

Archie shook his head but smiled, "You can be so weird, Ossie."

"No, I'm not. And don't call me Ossie!"

OoOoOoO

"No. No way." Peyton shook her head and waved away the offered felt tip pen.

Archie pouted at his friend, "Aw, come on, Peyton. Everyone does it. Like Steven from my class and, er," He squinted at a scrawled name on the climbing frame, "I'm fairly sure that's his sister, Rosie. Besides, it's not really illegal, look at it like an everlasting tribute to our friendship." He ended on an inspired note.

Peyton crossed her arms over her chest, "First of all, didn't you call Steve, and I quote, 'an idiot who could only count to five with an abacus because he was too stupid to use a calculator'? And secondly, if anyone sees this, I doubt that telling them that we're making an 'everlasting tribute to our friendship' will soften their responses."

Archie sighed and slouched his shoulders dramatically, "You're far too serious." He held the pen out once more with a sad, puppy dog face, "Please? Pretty please?"

Peyton looked around at the park, the climbing frame and finally the pen before she rolled her eyes and took the pen from him, "Anything for a quiet life, I suppose."

She found a small space that didn't have profanities and phone numbers scrawled on it and then carefully started to write. After a minute she straightened up and took a step back to admire her handiwork.

Archie leaned in and grinned at the neat, round words.

_Ossie and Archie_

_- 19/5/1989_

Apparently the nickname had started to grow on her after all.

OoOoOoO

"What are you reading?" Archie turned around to find Peyton looking over his shoulder at the book in his lap. He shrugged and held it up for her.

Peyton's brow furrowed as she looked over it, "The Celestial Toymaker?" The cover had a picture of an elderly looking man, flanked by two clowns. The writing down at the bottom proclaimed it to be wrote by Gerry Davis and Alison Bingeman. "I've never heard of it."

"It's a Doctor Who book. A novelization, y'know?"

"I don't think I've heard of that either."

"A novelization?"

"No, Doctor Who."

Archie blinked at her, an unusually serious frown making him look older than his ten years. "You're pulling my leg." Peyton shook her head and Archie looked reminiscent of someone who had just watched a beloved pet get run over. "How?"

His friend shrugged, she was beginning to look uneasy. Archie sighed and handed the book to her, "Well, basically, it was a show on the telly about this alien called the Doctor-"

"Hence the title." Peyton interrupted, looking over the blurb.

"Mm-hm. But anyway, he had a spaceship called the TARDIS, which was disguised as a police box and he travelled through time and space in it with pretty girls, all the while fighting evil." He took a deep breath before he started talking again, and when he did his voice had a sour note in it, "It was really, _really _brilliant but then someone cancelled it."

Peyton nodded sympathetically, "Shame. It sounded quite interesting." She went to hand the book back to him but he waved her hand away, "Keep it."

"Um, Archie, I couldn't-"

He rolled his eyes at her flustered behaviour, "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth? Seriously, our house is coming down with them. And besides, if you like it, we could start a petition or something to make them put it back on the telly."

"Would that work?"

"Maybe. They have to listen to us, you know. We're the audience."

Peyton looked down at the book. It was creased and the pages were yellowed with use and for some reason she couldn't keep the smile off her face when she looked at it. In a moment of madness, she threw her arms around Archie, who almost toppled off the swing he had been sitting on for the entirety of the exchange. "Watch it!" He exclaimed.

Peyton squeezed him so hard, he thought his lungs were in danger of exploding for a second before she let go with a big, goofy grin plastered on her face, "Thank you, Archie. Really."

He looked at her sunny face in total bewilderment, "It's just a book."

She shrugged and hopped onto the wall beside him, "Maybe to you."

OoOoOoO

It was an overcast Sunday morning in the middle of July when everything changed. Peyton, or Ossie as more and more people were starting to call her, was sitting at the table, eating her breakfast opposite her Uncle Christoph who was reading the paper, only pausing to complain about certain things, mainly Cornelius Fudge or Lucius Malfoy, who had recently given a hefty donation to St. Mungo's. Aunt Matilda hummed along to the radio while she sat at the head of the table knitting a jumper. It was a perfectly normal beginning to the day. But then an owl flew in the window. Matilda shrieked as it flew past her head like a speeding bullet, almost hitting her in the process. Christoph said something in German that may have been a swearword and Peyton choked on her toast.

The owl seemed to stare at the scene before it with an air of something akin to superiority, as if to say, "Humans. Total morons, the lot of them!" It dropped the letter from its beak, ruffled its feathers with an almost disdainful hoot and flew out the window again.

Once Peyton had managed to painfully swallow the chunk of toast that had been lodged in her throat, her eyes immediately went to the letter, which was sitting in the middle of the table. On it, clear as day and in green ink, was an unsettlingly accurate address:

_Miss P. Oswald_

_The Kitchen,_

_Das Haus von Uhren,_

_Quigley's Grove,_

_Suffolk._

She reached over, picked it up and turned it over. Sure enough, the Hogwarts Crest was stamped onto it. Peyton swallowed. All of a sudden, it had became rather hard to breathe.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, open it!" Christoph exclaimed, looking nearly as nervous as Peyton, who had turned incredibly pale. Matilda swatted the back of his head with her knitting needles, "Don't pay him any mind, Peyton. Open it when you're ready, dear." But even as she said it, she seemed on edge.

Decided to put everyone out of their misery, Peyton opened the envelope and pulled the heavy, expensive-looking parchment out. She looked over it and as she did, a small smile began to play at the corners of her lips. After a few seconds more, she passed the letter wordlessly over to her aunt and uncle who took it and began to read over it eagerly.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms. Oswald,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1st September. We await your owl no later than 31st July._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

There was absolute silence in the kitchen as the letter was read over for the second time. And then suddenly Christoph gave an incredibly undignified whoop and Matilda, who was sniffling, reached over the table and enveloped Peyton in a bone-crushing hug. All the while, Christoph was babbling in the background happily,

"I knew it was going to come today, I could feel it in my bones. And here it is, in front of us!" At this point, he reached across the table and hugged Peyton as well, "We are so proud of you, my girl!"

Peyton had never been happier to find it difficult to breathe. Matilda shot up suddenly with an idea sparkling in her eyes. "We should have a party." Seeing the objection starting to form in Peyton's eyes, she quickly elaborated, "Nothing too big, of course. But a few family friends, party food, perhaps a cake."

"Err-"

"Now, now, child," Christoph cut her off, a joking smile on his weathered face as usual, "Don't deny your uncle an opportunity to break out the wine."

For the second time that day, Matilda brought her knitting needles down upon her husband's head. He winced and raised his hands in a placating gesture, "As usual, I jest, my dear. Slightly."

Peyton laughed a little at them before she nodded, "Okay, as long as it's nothing really big." She brightened, "I expect Mr. Jefferson will be coming, right?"

Christoph nodded gravely, "Of course. It couldn't be considered a party if Reginald isn't there."

Matilda nodded thoughtfully, "Reginald has a granddaughter who's starting this year as well. We could make it a joint party." She looked at Peyton who nodded, agreeing, "It would give you a chance to make a friend before you go to Hogwarts."

At the word 'friend', Peyton's happiness ground to a sudden and complete halt. In the last few minutes of jubilation, she had forgotten Archie. Archie who was a muggle and most certainly wouldn't be going to Hogwarts come September.

"I'm going to need to tell Archie." She said the words without fully realising she was saying them.

Christoph and Matilda shared a worried glance and Matilda said delicately, "Peyton, you know you can't."

Peyton shook her head, like she was trying to free her thoughts from whatever nook they were all stuck in, "No, not everything. Just that-that I won't be around as much anymore."

Christoph was the first to react this time. He patted his niece on the shoulder gently; a far cry from the celebrations that had been taking place mere moments ago. "Of course you need to, but not yet. First we need to finish breakfast, I think." He said, waving vaguely at the plates, which had been forgotten.

Peyton nodded and sat back down. She was still smiling, determined not to bring the mood down anymore than she already had, but now there was a forced quality to it and Matilda had the nastiest feeling that as soon as she could be alone, Peyton would start crying. She watched her niece worriedly as she picked up her second-hand copy of The Celestial Toymaker.

**And there's Chapter Two. I hope you enjoyed it and I would appreciate it so much if you reviewed it!**


	3. Archie and Selena

**Hello again! So here's the third chapter. Hope you enjoy it :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Archie's house sat teetering on the border of the village. It was old and quaint, almost a cottage, with a garden that was almost overflowing with plants and flowers. So many flowers, in fact, that Archie's neighbour, Mr. Stanley, who suffered from terrible hay fever, had taken the matter to the Village Council. "A bleedin' menace!" he had exclaimed to the poor people who were only really there to position the stalls for the Village Fête, "How're me sinuses s'posed to work with tha' lot growing next ta me?" Curiously enough, from that day on her uncle had always made a point of wearing a large, fragrant boutonnière when he was around the man.

Peyton shook her head to clear it. Among her jumbled thoughts about Mr. Stanley and flowers was the terrible, soul-destroying reason that she was loitering outside the garden of Archie's house. She was going to tell him that she would be leaving. Even as she thought about it, her palms began to sweat and the contents of her stomach started to slosh around. "Don't be stupid," she muttered to herself, one hand hovering over the garden gate. Archie was her best friend, of course he'd understand! She took one final deep breath before she swung open the gate and marched up the path with a miserable but determined look on her face.

Rat-a-tat-tat

The sound of the doorknocker hitting the heavy wood quickly roused someone from the living room and Peyton could hear heavy footsteps thudding against the floor. Less than a minute later, the door swung open and Archie's father, Rory, was beaming down Peyton.

"I was wondering when you were going to come around. Archie's been getting worried," he announced as he led her into the small, cosy living room. "I'll go get him for you." With that, he ruffled her hair and went out into the hallway. Peyton could hear him shouting up the stairs and a few seconds later, eager, running steps coming down the stairs. And then Archie burst into the room with a grin that was eerily like his father's. "Hey," he said simply. Peyton forced a smile onto her face and said "hello".

Rory appeared in the doorway again, looking fondly at the two friends. "Well then," he announced, "I think I'll leave you two young love-birds alone."

Archie turned a brilliant red at this and exclaimed, "Dad!" The older man chuckled and strolled through the living room into the kitchen, chuckling all the while. Archie took a few seconds to collect himself, or at least try and get the blush off his face. "So," he finally said, "What's up? You haven't been around lately." Peyton could hear the slight tone of accusation in her friend's voice and grimaced apologetically.

"I'm really sorry. Things have been...busy recently."

"Busy enough that you don't talk to your best friend for two weeks, even when he lives just down the road?" He looked hurt, which was little in the way of consolation for Peyton. If he was upset now, what would he do when he found out he wasn't going to see her ten months out of twelve? Peyton tried to steady her nerves, all she had to do was tell him, of course he'd understand. She'd just have to be gentle about dropping the bombshell. Nice and gently does it, Peyton.

"I'm going to boarding school," she blurted out and then cringed inwardly. Real smooth, slick.

Archie looked like someone had slapped him around the face with a cold, semi-frozen fish, "What? Why?"

She rubbed the back of her neck and looked out the window, refusing to look him in the face, "It's, um, it's-," She glanced over to him for a second and cleared her throat. "It's a bit complicated." She finished lamely, throwing him an awkward, apologetic smile.

"Why's it complicated?" he complained.

Peyton opened her mouth, closed it and then shrugged, "Just is, I suppose."

The room went silent for a few moments. Archie looked absolutely miserable and Peyton had begun to notice just how fascinating her shoelaces actually were.

"Where is it?" Peyton looked up at Archie as he said the words and blinked, "Huh?"

"Y'know, the boarding school. Where is it?"

Some of the tension in the air seemed to dissipate, "Oh, Scotland." That wasn't giving too much away was it? There had to be at least one muggle boarding school in Scotland.

Archie winced sympathetically, "Ouch."

Peyton frowned, tilting her head to the side, "What's the matter?"

"Scotland. That's going to be rather painful."

Peyton tsk'd, "Don't be silly. Scotland's really nice. I went on a holiday there once. We saw Loch Ness and everything." She jabbed a finger at him, "I got you a key ring."

"And to this day, it has a shrine dedicated to it in my bedroom." Archie said solemnly.

Peyton laughed, a feeling of relief bubbling up inside her, Archie hadn't burst into tears, he hadn't demanded she leave and never return. And even though it was forced looking, he was smiling and making jokes and just being normal about it. Apparently she had underestimated her only friend.

"I thought you were gonna be upset," she sighed and ruffled her hair.

"What, because my best friend is going to a boarding school in Scotland where I'm not going to get to see her for most of the year?" Archie rolled his eyes at her, "Yeah, why in the world would I be feeling upset?"

"I know that it's going to be a really big adjustment." Peyton said quickly, "But if you want, we could write. I mean, you could give letters to my aunt and I could send letters to you to my house and then she could give them to you and-"

Archie held his hands up, "Okayyy then. That could work, definitely, just as long as you remember to breathe from now on."

Peyton grinned, "If you insist." She stuck her pinkie out to him, "Pinkie promise?"

"Peyton, we're eleven. Not seven." Archie deadpanned. Peyton waved her hand and stood her ground. She would not back down from this. Archie sighed and wrapped his pinkie around hers, "Fine. Pinkie promise."

They stood like that for a moment before Peyton let her hand fall away, "Okay then. Do you want to go outside? I think the ice cream man was around the village green."

Archie raised his eyebrows and grinned slightly, "So that was your Plan B. If I don't take it well, bribe me with ice cream."

"Would it have worked?"

"Probably."

"Then yes I was." Peyton ruffled her hair yet again, clearing her throat self-consciously at the same time, "Archie?"

"Yup?"

"Well, thanks, I guess. Really."

He spun around to face Peyton and made a face, "Ah, it's okay. What are friends for right?"

OoOoOoOo

Mr Reginald Jefferson was eccentric. Now, Peyton had always found that most people were in some way or another but Mr Jefferson really took the biscuit. He was an elderly gentleman who had been a friend of Christoph's for years so Peyton grew up knowing the man and gradually getting used to his many and varied quirks, one of the most noticeable being his questionable dress sense. On the night of the party he turned up wearing an acid green suit adorned with pink polka dots and a top hat which was perched haphazardly on the back of his head.

As soon as his eyes fell on Christoph and Peyton, he grinned and started to rush over to them, parting the crowds like Moses did the Red Sea. "My dear fellow!" he cried as soon as he was within talking range of his old friend. Christoph responded just as warmly, slapping the man genially on the shoulder but before he could open his mouth, Reginald had started talking again (well, perhaps 'booming' would be more accurate). "You know, it's quite a to-do, isn't it? Tilly has truly surpassed herself this time."

Christoph grinned, "You must make sure to tell her that - she has been flapping around like a chicken without its head for the past week, hasn't she, Peyton?"

Peyton nodded her head vigorously, "Mm-hm."

Reginald turned his attention to the young girl standing by her uncle, "Ah, if it isn't the young whippersnapper herself. You know, dear girl, you should truly think about stretching a little, any smaller and you might get trod on." Although he looked stern, his eyes twinkled down at her kindly.

Peyton crossed her arms over her chest and harrumphed to try and hide her smile, "If it was that easy, Mr. Jefferson, I would've tried it a long time ago."

The eccentric merely tsk'd and waved his hand before bring it down in a flourish and, suddenly, he was holding five sunflowers out to Peyton who took them with a sheepish but pleased smile. He ruffled her hair and clapped his hands together, "Now then, young Oswald, your great uncle and I have been wondering if you would like to meet my granddaughter."

Much like Christoph before her, Peyton didn't have a chance to get a word in before Reginald had swept away across the room, apparently looking for his granddaughter in the crowded living room.

Peyton looked up at her great uncle nervously, "Have you ever met her, his granddaughter?"

Christoph shook his head and took a thoughtful drag of his smoking pipe, "Nein, I cannot say I have. He always speaks very fondly of her." He seemed to sense the child's anxiety and patted her head, "Don't worry, child, Just be yourself. From what I've heard, she's much like you. You should like her." Just as he finished speaking, a vision of green and pink polka dots suddenly appeared on the horizon, only this time, there was a lanky, fair girl beside him.

"Ms. Oswald, may I present my favourite and only granddaughter, Selena."

Peyton smiled and stuck out her hand to the girl, "It's very nice to meet you, Selena." There was such professionalism and solemnity in her young voice that Christoph and Reginald both had to hide their amused smiles.

Selena stared at the outstretched hand a second before she took it with a small smile of her own, "It's, um, really nice to meet you as well."

The four of them, two children and two eccentric old men, stood there for a while, chatting and quickly diffusing the last of the remaining awkwardness before Christoph announced that he wanted to show Reginald his newest work of art - a cuckoo clock that had rather more 'oomph' than your everyday, average one, whatever that meant (Peyton wasn't sure she wanted to know). And so she and Selena were left alone.

"They're like little kids, aren't they?" Selena said, shaking her head at the mere thought of the two.

Peyton grinned and nodded her head, "It's silly, isn't it? Us two being the grown up ones when they've got whole decades on us?"

"Definitely. So, changing a subject a bit, what House do you want to get sorted into?"

Peyton pulled a thoughtful face, "I don't really mind, but I think I'd like Ravenclaw. What about you?"

Selena suddenly struck a pose, holding her hand up as if there was a sword in her grasp, "'Fraid I'm Gryffindor, if at all possible."

Peyton shook her head sadly, "Brawn over brains? And here was little old me thinking this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

"You know, I take it back, it's not just the grandfather and your uncle that are little kids - you definitely are as well."

Peyton stuck her tongue out and Selena pointed a teasing, triumphant finger at her, "Ah-ha! See, that's exactly my point."

The two girls talked and chatted. And then they nattered and bantered and - well, I'm sure you can get the picture (and it's becoming decidedly difficult to keep rhyming) and before they knew it, the crowd was starting to thin and Reginald was bounding over to his granddaughter and her new friend.

"My dear girls," he said in a booming, suspiciously slurred voice, "My dear, dear girls, I think it is time Selena and my fine self adjourned and so we must make haste for home before I give into the temptation to become any more magnificently sozzled than I already am."

Just then, Matilda suddenly appeared, looking sternly at the flamboyant, tipsy man. "I'm sorry, Reginald, but I won't have you apparating in that state on my conscience. You can use the Floo Network if you need to but to try to apparate with the child, you will end up splinching."

Reginald opened his mouth to protest but upon seeing the woman's face grow ever sterner, he meekly accepted the two handfuls of floo powder she had offered him and Selena.

And that, as they say, was that. Goodbyes were made, with Selena and Peyton promising to meet up on the Hogwarts Express and Matilda promising to turn Reginald into a mountain goat if he ever referred to her as 'Tilly' again. And when Peyton went to bed that night, looking out the window at the stars, she did so with a smile. Archie wasn't coming to Hogwarts and nothing was ever going to make that stingy, niggling stab of pain go away but now, at least, she had a funny, pleasant girl who seemed to like her. Her smile somehow managed to broaden and she drew the blankets up around her as her eyes fell on the brightest star in the sky.

"N'night, dad," she murmured before her eyes drifted shut.

**And there it is. Please R&R!**


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